


Transcendental Youth

by uro_boros



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tumblr drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uro_boros/pseuds/uro_boros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren’s mending his pants on the deck when Jean comes across him. There’s an odd sort of serenity to the push and pull of the needle and thread pinched carefully between fingertips—it reflects itself in Eren’s face, his expression calm and passive, mild for once. He doesn’t even look up at the sound of Jean’s footsteps, just continues the delicate work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transcendental Youth

Eren’s mending his pants on the deck when Jean comes across him. There’s an odd sort of serenity to the push and pull of the needle and thread pinched carefully between fingertips—it reflects itself in Eren’s face, his expression calm and passive, mild for once. He doesn’t even look up at the sound of Jean’s footsteps, just continues the delicate work.

It’s weird. Jean’s face twists, considering it. “My mother taught me,” Eren calls without prompting. When he looks up, briefly, his eyes are slightly tender, the way things become when they still hurt, but the hurt has faded and dulled. “She was better at it than me,” he adds contemplatively, knotting the thread and pulling it so that it snaps.

"You don’t talk about her a lot," says Jean for lack of anything else to say. He grimaces after it comes out; Eren’s mother is the topic no one pries into, like a locked chest in someone’s attic. 

Eren shrugs. “There isn’t much to talk about,” he admits quietly, “I don’t actually remember her all that well.”

Jean sits down next to him because there’s nothing else to do and it feels like it’s one of those things he’s supposed to do. Somewhere in Trost, his mother is rolling out dough for bread or pinning clothes to a line on their roof. If he closes his eyes, it’s easy to picture her—slightly roughened hands, lined face, the softness of associated motherhood clinging to her frame. “I’m sorry,” he offers awkwardly, voice gruff.

Eren gives him a sidelong glance before his lips quirk just slightly at their corners. “Jean Kirschstein, apologizing to me? I should get Armin to time and date this.”

"Funny," he snorts, eyebrows raising. "Want me to sign something to prove it?" Eren smiles for real this time, looking down at his mended pants. The line of thread is barely noticeable—just a neat stitch, straight across the upper thigh; it’ll be hidden by the belts of gear when their entire uniform is put on. Jean supposes that’s what caused the tear in the first place.

"She smelt like flour," Eren says after a moment. When Jean looks at him, his eyes are shut and his thumb is tracing the line of his stitch. "Sometimes when I hugged her, it would come off her in a giant plume of powder. It’d get in my hair, and she’d laugh. I remember that. There’s other things, too, but they’re harder to remember. She had a song she’d sing when I was upset, when I had scraped my knee or something or gotten into a fight. I can remember the tune but never the words." Briefly, he looks pained, but the lines of his face smooth before Jean can even flounder at the concept of offering comfort. His eyes open.

They’re very green. Jean’s known that before but he’s never really considered it. “It’s stupid,” Eren says simply. “It’s just a song.”

"It is," Jean agrees, kicking his legs out in front of him. They swing back and land with a satisfying thunk against the wooden deck just in time for Eren’s brows to knit down in familiar anger. "What?" Jean asks him, holding a hand up in a gesture of peace. "You said it yourself. It’s just a song. You remember the tune. That’s the important part."

Eren’s anger fades into a raised eyebrow. “It is?”

"Yeah," Jean says. "You remember how she sounded, don’t you? That’s what’s important."

"Not really the point," murmurs Eren but he offers Jean a small smile, "but I get what you’re saying." He kicks his legs out too.

It may be an accident that they end tangled with Jean’s. It may not be.

The song Eren starts to hum is nice. The sun is low-slung on the horizon and warm. 

They stay that way for awhile.


End file.
